Something Strange and Deadly (12 page)

“Then what
are
you doing?”

“I was... I was heading back to the lab, and I dropped something.” He tried to move past me, but I sidestepped and cut him off.

“What did you drop?”

“Nothing. Stand aside, Empress.”

“So you
were
hiding.”

He set his jaw, and I noticed his face was freshly shaved. It made his skin look soft.

“I've places to be,” he growled. “So if you don't step outta my way, I will move your imperial figure myself.”

I had no doubt he would, so I skittered aside. He stalked past, but I chased close behind—we were headed to the same place, after all.

He lengthened his stride. “Don't do that.”

“Do what?” I picked up my pace too.

“Follow me.”

“But I'm going where you're going, Mr. Sheridan.”

“What?” He twisted around, his hands snaking out, and he grabbed my wrists—not hard, yet tightly enough that I had no alternative but to go where he led. He slung me into a narrow space between two locomotives and released his grip.

He blocked my exit, and his shoulders were hunched practically to his ears. His usually tanned face was bloodless and white.

My pulse quickened. I inched back, trapped between the gleaming machines. I inhaled a proper lungful of air—I would scream if I had to—but then he spoke.

“Does he know where you're going?”

My scream died. “Huh? Who?”

“Wilc—” He broke off and swallowed. “Your beau. The man you came in with.”

I narrowed my eyes. Why did Daniel care about that? “No. He doesn't know I'm here.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I was going to the water closet. Why are you asking—”

“That's it?” Daniel interrupted, his shoulders dropping an inch. “That was all you said?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn't know about me? About the Spirit-Hunters?”

“No—not from me, at least. He does know about the Spirit-Hunters, though. Everyone does. You're in the newspapers.”

He ran a hand through his hair and eyed me warily. “If it's just the papers, then it's fine.”

My heart slowed, and intense curiosity supplanted my fright. “Why do you care if Mr. Wilcox knows about you?”

“That's none of your affair, but don't you ever mention my name to him.” He dipped his chin and looked at me from the tops of his eyes. “Got it?”

“No.” I was wretchedly tired of men declaring what I could and could not do. “I don't ‘got it,' Mr. Sheridan. You can't act like this and not explain yourself. So... so unless you answer my questions properly, I'll make a special point to tell Mr. Wilcox exactly—”

Daniel clamped his hand over my mouth and pressed me against the engine. “You'll do no such thing.” He spoke softly into my ear. It didn't frighten me, but had my full attention.

“For your own safety and mine,” he continued, “you will keep that tongue of yours still.” He slid the hand from my mouth and planted it on the engine beside my head. His mouth still hovered beside my face, and his breath tickled along my ear.

All the hairs on my neck and arms pricked up.

Then the reality of the situation hit me. He was entirely too close—both for proper etiquette and my composure. I punched the inside of his elbow with all my strength.

“Ow!” he howled, stumbling back.

“Varmint!” I spat out the first word I could find and prayed he couldn't see my scarlet flush. “You rude, low-class varmint! Don't you
ever
touch me again.”

He gripped his elbow to his stomach, massaging the joint and muttering under his breath.

“What's that?” I demanded. “What are you grumbling about?”

His lips curved into a frown. “I said I ain't a varmint, and I ain't gonna hurt you.”

“Aw,” I simpered, pouting my lower lip dramatically and trying to hide my own discomfort. “Did I hurt your feelings? Well, you shouldn't take it personally, Mr. Sheridan. No one cares about my opinion.”

Daniel's frown vanished, and the angles of his jaw eased into a gentle sadness. “Maybe I care.”

His words astounded me, and a strange flutter whirled through my chest. Had he just
complimented
me?

For several moments I was too flustered to speak, and the air was thick with our silence—as if the words I wanted to say were there, but invisible. Daniel shifted his weight, his eyes still on mine.

At last he flashed a grin, and the strange moment passed. He gave a mocking bow, but he was too near me to go far. When he lifted his head back up, his face was somber once more.

“Empress, you must not tell Clarence Wilcox that you know me.” His voice was low, and he inched closer. “Please. That man can't know I'm here.”

The sincerity in his face and the quiet desperation in his words convinced me to keep his secret. “I wasn't going to tell anyway,” I said primly, tilting my head away. “I don't exactly want him to know I'm working with the likes of you. I'll keep your secret, Mr. Sheridan, though I expect an explanation one day.”

He nodded. “And maybe one day”—he reached out and flicked my chin playfully with his thumb—“I'll tell you my explanation.” He sauntered backward until he reached the edge of the machine. Then he leaned out and scanned the area.

“Oh, and one last thing, Empress.” He turned his light eyes on me once more. “You might want to reconsider your suitors.”

“What does that mean?”

“It's a warning.” He glanced over his shoulder and then back to me. “I'm almighty scared of Clarence Wilcox, and if you've got any sense in that pretty head of yours, you'll be almighty scared of him too.”

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

J
oseph ran a hand over his bare head and leaned
against the window of the Spirit-Hunters' lab. I had followed Daniel to the lab, and then he and Joseph had patiently listened to my rushed explanation of the Germantown Academy boys. Jie was away, though they wouldn't tell me where she'd gone.

“And you do not think it is merely coincidence?” Joseph asked.

I shook my head. “How can it be? Two boys from the same school as my brother, both decap—” I faltered and swallowed. “Both decapitated. Both walking Dead.”

Daniel scooted a stool out and plopped down with his knees angled out. “I see why a necromancer might be interested in your brother, but what about the other boys? Where's the logic behind that?”

“I don't know. I simply came to tell you because it seemed important.”

“Yes,” Joseph said, “and I think you were right to come here. We were not aware of this connection. And perhaps... well, perhaps such information will sway the city officials in our favor.”

“Yeah.” Daniel chuckled, a hollow, derisive sound. “All these rich boys showing up headless? Their families may want to keep it quiet, but eventually someone will notice, and that'll attract attention from the international visitors.”

“Yes, and so... wait...” I shook my head. “I don't understand. Why doesn't the city government help you?”

“They help some,” Daniel said. “I mean, they let us install Dead alarms, and they've given us a handful of Exhibition guards to train, but... ”He sniffed and pointed out the lab window, where people in colorful gowns and dapper suits meandered beside the majestic Bartholdi Fountain. “They aren't as helpful as they
could
be because of all that.”

I frowned, baffled. “What do you mean?”

“The Centennial Exhibition is a fantasy, Empress. An illusion. It gleams like diamonds and distracts the eye from the rotting parts of America—like Shantytown.” He tipped his head in the direction of the shacks on Elm Avenue. “The amount of money spent to keep this Exhibition spotless reeks of dirty politics to me, and from what I can see, the local politicians aren't out to help anyone but themselves.”

“Daniel is correct,” Joseph said. “Mayor Stokely and many of the Exhibition board members are focused on the upcoming political elections. None of them wish to draw attention of
any kind
to themselves. Too much focus on the Dead or decapitations might bring attention to some of their shadier dealings. Every American politician is under new scrutiny now because of the Whiskey Ring.”

“The Whiskey Ring?” I picked at the buttons on my glove. “You mean that group of Republicans, right? I don't see how that's related to any of this.”

Daniel pressed his lips into a grim line. “Because those officials were using taxpayer money for their own misbehaving. And your local politicians aren't any nicer. They rig the votes, keep tax money, and don't want any of the visiting federal workers or foreigners to notice.”

I pressed my hand to my forehead. “I still don't understand. If there's so much danger from the Dead, wouldn't the whole city want you to have the resources you need?”

“You'd think.” Daniel ran his tongue over his teeth. “But the board's convinced we can keep the problem contained until the end of the Exhibition.”

“But that's not for months!” I cried.

Joseph winced. “
Wi
, but with the elections coming up, the politicians need to downplay the Dead as a minor problem.”

“Plus,” Daniel hastened to add, “they don't wanna spend precious campaign and bribery money on some worthless Spirit-Hunters.”

Joseph nodded. “Money that is also needed to pay for all this grandeur.” He flicked his wrist toward the window. “We, the Spirit-Hunters, have made progress, for we are training Exhibition guards to disable corpses, and it looks as though Mayor Stokely may also provide some police. This helps, but it is not enough. I am still the only person who can lay hundreds of Dead to rest at once.”

“So what do you need?” I asked, glancing around for a clock. There was none, but I was certain enough time had passed to raise Clarence's suspicions over my extended absence. “If people aren't enough, Mr. Boyer, then what is?”

Joseph grimaced. “Money, equipment, and when the time comes, more men. Many more men.”

“The time comes?” My eyes flitted between Joseph's frown and Daniel's glower. “Time for what?”

“Entering Laurel Hill.” Joseph spoke so low I could scarcely hear the words. “To stop all the Dead at once.”

Daniel huffed out a sigh. “But first I gotta finish my newest invention. And...” He dragged out the word and rolled his hands, as if the next step in his explanation was obvious.

But it wasn't obvious to me, and I wagged my head. “And what?”

“And I
can't
finish it.”

“Why?”

“I don't have access to research. I need more information on electricity, explosives, chemicals, and the like.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Why don't you just go to the library?”

“We don't have the right subscription.” Daniel scratched his jaw. “Sure, I can waltz into the Mercantile Library downtown whenever I fancy, but it does me no good if I can't get into the private collections. And the Exhibition board does not seem keen on sharing that sort of subscription.”

Joseph spread his hands, palms up. “The city does not allow just anyone access to potentially dangerous information. It is for the safety of the citizens.”

Private collections. The Mercantile Library. Excitement bubbled through me—I could help! I'd spent many a childhood afternoon in that very same library, squeezed together in a chair with Elijah or exploring endless shelves. It was several miles east of the Exhibition, directly in the center of Philadelphia.

I stepped toward Daniel. “Do you mean the Mercantile on Tenth?”

“Yeah.” Daniel picked at his fingernails and avoided my eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I can.”

“You can what?”

“I can go in the private collections!” I scurried toward him. “My father had a lifetime subscription, Mr. Sheridan, and not just that, but he had special privileges. I'm certain I could use his name to get you into the private collections.”

Daniel's jaw fell. “Why didn't you say so before?”

“What?” I recoiled. “How was I supposed to know you needed it?”

“We could've gone ages ago!”

My enthusiasm transformed into outrage. “In that case, why didn't you say you needed it?”

“Because I didn't know you had a subscription!”

“Aha!” I cried, thrusting a finger at him. “Your argument's a circle!”

Daniel sprang up. “We wasted all this time—”

“Silence!” Joseph roared. “You are like squawking parrots, and I have had quite enough. Miss Fitt, I would ask that you take Mr. Sheridan to the library immediately. Daniel, I would ask that you keep that big mouth of yours silent.”

My shoulders drooped, and all my indignation washed away. “I-I can't go now,” I replied meekly. “I'm here with someone, and I'm afraid...” I stopped my words and gulped.

Daniel's face lost all color. “She's right. Now won't do. Tomorrow morning, first thing.” At Joseph's questioning eyebrow, he added, “I'll explain later.”

“So tomorrow morning, then?” I twined my fingers around my earring.

“
Wi
.” Joseph bowed his head. “Though I beg you to come quite early. We lose valuable time as each day passes.”

After a soft good-bye, I shambled into Machinery Hall and struggled to conquer my resisting heart.

Daniel's words would not stop repeating in my mind:
I'm almighty scared of Clarence Wilcox.
But I had no reason to fear Clarence, right? Whatever Daniel's reasons, they were his and his alone.

I tipped my chin up and drew my shoulders back.
I merely visited the water closet—I must pretend that. Easy as pie.

Soon I saw the mist from the Hydraulic Annex, and the crashing of its waterfalls grew louder with each step. When I reached the rows of benches surrounding the pool, I scanned about for Clarence.

Then I saw Willis. He slouched against the pool's rail, but his attention was focused elsewhere. I followed his gaze, and what I saw made me stop.

Clarence was talking to Nicholas Peger, and judging by their dark expressions, animated movements, and close proximity, the men knew each other—very well.